I Have a Plan!
by royalsprinkles
Summary: Alfred wants Arthur, but, Artie-kins is still sore about the Revolution, and tries to ignore Alfred at all costs. It'll be rated M eventually :U   IfailatsummariesOTL
1. Super Heroic Beach Day!

Sunlight sparkled down on the ocean, sending a thousand diamond-like reflections across the water and sky. A slight breeze ruffled the leafy palms, and the silent peace was unhindered. Then, a great shout of laughter punctured the air, accompanied by a loud splash as someone dived into the water. The person resurfaced with another laugh, his blonde hair plastered to his head and blue eyes dancing like the waves beneath him.

"Come and join me Artie!" he shouted to his companion, a man with dirty blonde hair and emerald green eyes, strangely complemented by a pair of hugely thick eyebrows.

The man scowled at his nickname. "Either you call me Arthur or England, Alfred, none of this 'Artie' shit." he growled, laying down a couple of towels and stabbing a large umbrella into the sand. Alfred bounded out of the water, skidded under the umbrella's shade, took several deep breaths, and dripped salt water everywhere.

"Will you please join me for a swim, Arthur?" Alfred asked, grinning and shaking his head like a dog, sending water everywhere.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "You come all the way up here just to ask me that? Git, do you realize how little sense that made?"

"I did it because if you say no, I can forcibly drag you to the water with my hero strength."

Arthur sputtered at his companion's comment. "Alfred, I-er..." he managed to say, looking at anything but Alfred's face.

"So that's a yes? Sweet!" Alfred exclaimed, clapping his hands in victory. In the next second, he was snatching Arthur up from under the arms and pulling him down the shore, laughing in the most loud and obnoxious way imaginable. Arthur was kicking and yelling the entire way, shouting profanities and things like 'Bloody wanker!' or 'You haven't even given me a chance to get ready!'

Unheeded, Arthur was unceremoniously thrown into the ocean, coughing and choking on salt water when he resurfaced. He heard laughter, and turned to see that Alfred had swam up next to him, grinning widely. "Ain't the water great, Artie?" he asked.

"Arthur scowled again. "Why the bloody hell did you even want me to come here anyway?"

Alfred swam closer. "Because I want us to be close again, like back in the day," he said, still swimming closer. "I brought you here because, I dunno, you could use a tan!" he laughed. He grabbed Arthur around the waist and smiled as he saw the smaller male blush and struggle against his grasp.

"Fucking let go of me, Alfred!" Arthur shouted, flailing against the other's grasp.

"I was protecting you from a shark!" Alfred responded.

"There is no bloody shark! Now let go!"

Alfred pouted, and suddenly his face was centimeters away from Arthur's. "There was a shark! Really!" he breathed, his breath washing over Arthur's face. Alfred gently touched Arthur's cheek, surprised when he leaned into the touch. Alfred brought their mouths closer, delighted that Arthur wasn't fighting, he brushed their lips together-

Then, he felt a pair of arms shove him away, a furiously blushing Arthur glaring at him. "I'm leaving," he grunted, promptly removing himself from the water and stomping back up the shore.

"Wait-Arthur!" Alfred called after him, but Arthur just ignored his voice. Alfred slowly got out of the water, dejectedly plopping down onto a beach towel. "Damnit, I was so close," he cursed himself. "Arthur...I wish you'd let me be close to you again...I never knew the Revolution would do this to us..." Alfred lay there for a while, lost in his thoughts. Eventually, he got up and packed everything away, saddened that his his super-heroic-plan-of-having-Arthur-fall-for-him-and-make-love-on-the-beach had been cut short. He walked to where they had parked, dropping everything once he got there. "SHIT!" he shouted.

Arthur had taken the car. 


	2. Love Drunk?

A/N- OK Bros, I had noooo idea how short the first chapter was, OTL. Srsly, it was three pages when I was writing it out on paper. My handwriting is not THAT big. Anyways, you guys are great leaving behind lovely reviews and adding this story to your alerts/favorites, it makes me very happy when I wake up and discover all these emails from you! *hugs*  
>On another note (omg this is a really long AN OTL OTL OTL), I GOT RID OF THE VIRUSSSSSSSSSS! *happy tears* SO, that means I can...try...to start on HPATGM again, if my Crack Muse returns to me as well. Also, do you bros have any suggestions as to what should happen in the next chapter for this story? I have an idea...but I'm not too sure about it...OTL OTL OTL  
>ANYWAYS, LONG AN IS LONG AND NOW OVER YAY.

Arthur groaned and rested his head on a table, the chinks of many glasses hitting tables echoing around him. He was at a local bar, the first one he could find after the beach fiasco. The place was crowded, loud and stuffy, many of the patrons crowding around a single large flat screen T.V. and shouting at some game that was playing. The place wasn't exactly Arthur's cup of tea, but the friendly atmosphere had calmed his nerves a bit. Or maybe it was the liquor, it was hard to tell, he was on his fifth...sixth...seventh shot now.

He downed another glass, slamming it back on the table. "Stupid America!" he grumbled. "Why'd you hafta grow up? You was so cute when you were a babe!" his speech started slipping from proper English to a more relaxed style after the...eighth (maybe? He stopped counting after the seventh)drink. "Bloody prat! 'e dun know 'ow good he 'ad it!" a soft chuckle was heard from the bar stool next to him. "Wha' the bloody 'ell d'you want?" he half-shouted. "Oh mother_fuck _," he groaned, realising just who he was sitting next to. On his immediate left smirked Francis, Antonia sitting next to him, and of _course_ Gilbert had to be there too.

"Whining about Amerique, Angleterre?" Francis asked, sipping on a glass of wine.

"None of yer bloody business!" Arthur growled back. The trio just laughed at him.

"You gotta just let your feelings out, hombre," Antonio said wisely. "All these pent up emotions aren't good for your relationship."

"Feelings-pent up-relationship!" Arthur screeched, heat beginning to rise in his cheeks, whether from the liquor or conversation, he couldn't tell.

"Oh come on, Arthur! Everyone knows you feel something for el chico, you're just too scared to admit it! Yo-"

"This conversation is over," Arthur interrupted. standing and staggering towards the door.

He got about two feet before falling, a slew of curse words flying out of his mouth. The men that annoyed him so rushed to his side, stiffling laughter. "I don't think you're sober enough to drive," Gilbert noted, heaving Arthur onto a chair.

Arthur slumped over in his seat. "An' zat's..._America's_ car," he slurred, "I dun wanna crash it..."

"You won't have to worry, he's right here," a voice said behind him.

Arthur jumped, turning to see who had spoken. Indeed, Alfred was there, arms folded across his chest, "Come on, I'm taking you home," he said.

"You...you'll do no such bloody thing!" Arthur snapped, attempting to stand again

"You said so yourself, it's my car and you don't wanna crash it," Alfred retorted, uncharactistically serious.

"You kin buy a new one!"

"I will do no such thing," Alfred stated calmly.

"...Then I'm stayin' here!"

"You're choosing three perverts over the hero?"

Arthur looked up at him. "G'point," he concluded, standing up and leaning against Alfred's frame. Together, they managed to stagger to the parking lot, Alfred searching his druken friend's pockets for the keys, trying to hurriedly unlock the vehicle and shove Arthur inside; it should be illegal, the way he was clinging to him and whispering and giggling in his ear, it was driving Alfred insane.

"Bloody 'ell Alfred, it doesn' take dis fuckin' long t' get in a car!" Arthur shouted, wrenching himself away from Alfred and plopping down on the passenger's side. "Wha' the hell are you smirkin' at?" he grumbled.

The engine roared to life. "Dude, you're totally wasted," laughed Alfred. "It's hilarious, how you're acting right now, man, I wish I had a camera." he started backing up, chuckling.

"Oh shut up, wanker!" Arthur retorted, lurching up and yanking a fistful of Alfred's hair, causing the American to jerk the wheel and nearly sideswipe the convertible next to them.

"Shit Arthur, don't do that!"

"You bloody deserve it," Arthur grumbled, clutching his stomach as it gave a painful lurch. "Although...tha' was a nice car..."

"I woulda made you pay for any damage," Alfred told him, grinning.

Arthur slouched down in his seat. "...Wha'ever. Jus'...jus' take me to a hotel."

"No way! You're going back to my place; besides, it's closer."

"Wha'ever, jus' hurry up an' get there git, I think I'm gunna be sick..." Arthur groaned.

"Anything for my Artie," Alfred teased, shifting gears and beginning to weave in and out of traffic.

"Go t' hell," was the faint response Alfred heard from the passenger's side; he turned his head and saw that Arthur had passed out, half-way out of his seat and mouth hanging open. Alfred blushed furiously, even if the man was pissy and drunk he just looked so...cute. He jerked his head away and had to slam on the brakes, lest he rear-end the truck in front of him; he honked the horn, cursing.

Arthur woke with a start. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall...ninety-nine bottles of beer...take one down, pass it around...ninety...ninety...ninety-something bottles of beer on the wall..." he sang. "Heeeyyy Alfred, are we there ye'? Cause I'm...reallyyyy tireeddd," he started poking Alfred in the side, his voice slurred.

"I liked you better when you were sleeping," Alfred grumbled to himself.

"Wha' waz tha'?"

"Nothing. We're here," Alfred said, killing the engine and getting out.

"Nnnng, carry meee, I can't moveee..." Arthur whined, flopping around uselessly to prove his point.

Alfred sighed. "...Fine," he complied, going over to the drunk man's side and pulling him out.

Arthur latched onto him, wrapping his arms and legs around Alfred's neck and waist, causing the latter's heart to flutter and have butterflies erupt in his stomach. "...Yer warmmm," Arthur trilled in his ear, totally oblivious on how he was effecting the other man.

"And your breath is rank."

"Bu' the liquor wus gooood; heeyyy, wanna-wanna taste it?" Arthur asked, tilting his head and gazing at Alfred slightly cross-eyed.

Alfred nearly dropped him, did he mean what he thought he meant? "A-Arthur, you should really get to bed dude, besides-mmph!" Arthur silenced him with a forceful kiss, gripping onto the front of Alfred's shirt for dear life. Alfred pulled away from him, even if he didn't want to. "We really shouldn't Artie," he told him.

"Why t' bloody hell not? You wanted t' earlier!"

"That's when you were sober; sorry Artie, but I don't want to take advantage of you like this," Alfred tried to explain, forcing Arthur to relinquesh his grip and fall onto the couch.

"Wait!" Arthur called out, sitting up. "I...I wan' to sleep with you, I mean...like...b-because...the couch wuld be bad fer me back..."

Alfred shook his head. "You sure are demanding when you're drunk," he noted, going over and picking Arthur up again when the man stuck his arms out.

Arthur grumbled something incoherent, resting his head against Alfred's chest. "Why'd you leave me, Alfred?" he asked as Alfred pulled back the blankets of his bed and placed Arthur down.

"I grew up Artie, I didn't need to depend on you anymore."

"Yo-you couldn't just stay with me anyway? I gave you all the freedom you wanted!" Arthur protested.

"I don't want to talk about it tonight Arthur," Alfred whispered, changing into a pair of sweatpants and crawling into the spot next to him. "This is just like when I was little, huh Artie?" he said after a few minutes, happy that Arthur was sharing a bed with him again, even if he was drunk.

"...Jus' go t' hell," was the response.


	3. He's Climbin' in Yo Windows

Sorry I kept you guys waiting for this next chapter, finals killedddd meeeee D: (but it's summer now, so that means I get to spend more time on writing up my baby 3) That, and uh...I lost a hard copy page of this chapter...so uh...had to rewrite it...derp.

Alfred woke up to the scent he hadn't smelled in ages.

The smell of food burning.

He shot up in bed, turning his head wildly around and having his worst fear confirmed; Arthur was in the kitchen. He scrambled out from under the covers, stumbled to the door and grabbed a handy fire extinguisher...just in case. Alfred thundered down the stairs, armed and ready, calling out "Arthur! Dude, are you sure you should be cooking? Don't you remember the la-" _WHOOSH!_ a frying pan flew at him, barely missing the American's head and clattering to the floor somewhere behind him. Several objects...rocks? No, wait, Arthur's scones came hurtling at him next, one of them catching him in the stomach. Damn...those things were hard...maybe they were rocks?

"What the bloody hell did you do to me?" Arthur roared, stomping out of the kitchen and raising a wooden spoon menacingly.

"Dude, don't blame me for what you did, I'm not the one who got you wasted-"

"I'm not talking about my drinking habits!" Arthur shouted, brandishing his spoon, "I wake up-because of your boorish _snoring_, mind you-I wake up, next to you, in _your _bed!" he jabbed the spoon at Alfred, "Now bloody explain it!"

"You wanted to! Wait, can you remember anything from last night?"

"If I did, why would I be asking you?"

Alfred started laughing. "Artie, the only reason you found yourself in my bed was because you asked to; you said that the couch would hurt your back and-hey, how the hell do you not have a hangover?"

"Never bloody mind that! Why didn't you leave once I was in there?" Arthur demanded, folding his arms and furrowing his enormous eyebrows suspiciously.

Alfred stood there, dumbstruck. What was he supposed to say? _Oh, I stayed because I was hoping that, in your drunken state, you'd sleep with me?_ Even in his head, the truth seemed stupid to tell; for now, at least. "Because Artie...um...I-I just miss when I was little and I'd get in the bed with you because I'd get scared..." _This is the worst lie ever._

"You wanted to sleep with me, didn't you?"

"No! Not in that way!" _Totally in that way._

"Don't you bloody lie to me!"

"Why don't you try listening to me?" Alfred shouted, his patience finally at it's end. "Arthur, I stayed because seriously, I liked being that close to you without you yelling at me, and besides, even if I wanted to do anything, you were passed out within two minutes!"

Arthur looked at him. "So, you didn't do anything?"

"No! If anything, you were the one trying to do something!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur demanded.

"It means that even when you're drunk, you're a pretty good kisser."

Arthur blanched. Did he really kiss that bleeding idiot last night? "...Get out," he whispered.

"What was that?"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" he repeated, flinging the wooden spoon at Alfred's head.

Alfred laughed loudly at him. "Dude! This is my house! You can't kick me out of my own-OK! Ok I'm going!" he exclaimed, for Arthur had just wailed a large butcher knife at him. He should probably hide those things from him. Alfred slammed the door shut behind him, a scared chuckle escaping him as he heard the dull thuds of the remaining knives hit the floor. He stood and brushed himself off. "That was close...but...now what am I gonna do..." he thought aloud, walking down the driveway. Alfred stopped, a sudden idea popping into his mind. Instead of leaving Arthur to cool off, Alfred had a much better idea...

Climb back in through the window.

He walked towards his backyard, whistling the Mission Impossible theme. He stepped up on the porch, turning the back door knob. Nope, it was locked. He sighed and tried the window next to it; that was locked as well. Alfred groaned, he figured that the doors and windows on the ground floor would be locked. He jumped up and latched onto the side roof, easily scaling it and swinging into the thankfully open window; he really was lax when it came to home security. Alfred landed on the aged carpet floor with a soft thump, tensing at the slightest sound, in case it was Arthur coming to investigate. He slipped out of the spare room and bounded down the stairs as quietly as possible, jumping across the last three steps and dashing for the wall against the kitchen, where Arthur couldn't see him. He breathed a sigh of relief when Arthur, still trying to 'cook,' didn't hear him. Alfred wasn't sure why he was still pretending to be one of those actors from an old spy movie, maybe it was because he wanted to see what Arthur was like without him around. He edged closer to the entryway, ears straining to hear what Arthur was grumbling about.

"Stupid bloody yank!" Arthur said furiously, banging pots and pans around. "He's just so oblivious to_ everything_!" Alfred shrank further into the shadows. "When is he gonna realize I miss him too! The bleeding idiot!" the Briton fumed. "Why do I even care for him at all, all he's ever done is hurt me!"

"Artie...if that's how you feel...then...I'm sorry." 


	4. Things Aren't Going too Well

_A/N: Sorry the chapters are always so short ;A; And that I take forever on them. I'm just slow I guess. OTL Please forgive your friendly neighborhood fanfic writer. :C_

_I also dunno what it's like to make an international call, so...I made it like a regular one. Kinda. I think._

Arthur spun around when he heard Alfred's voice. "What did you say?" he choked out. Alfred didn't say anything at first; just walked up to Arthur and pulled him into a fierce embrace, causing the pan Arthur was holding to clatter to the floor.

"Artie...I'm sorry...for you feeling that way," Alfred repeated.

"You're sorry," Arthur echoed in a monotone, "Where in that thick skull of yours did you think an 'I'm sorry' will magically make everything okay?" he growled, shoving the American away and heading towards the door.

"What-no-Artie, wait!" Alfred protested, hand reaching out to pull him back, but Arthur had already stormed out, the door rattling violently in his wake. "I've gotten myself into a mess, haven't I?" he asked aloud, gazing forlornly at the door. Alfred sighed and turned away, going into the living room and picking up the phone. He punched in the number hurriedly, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the voice of reason to pick up.

"H-Hello?" a soft voice asked from the other end.

"Dude! Matt! We really need to work on phone services between our countries! I had to wait _forever!_" Alfred almost shouted into the receiver, painfully too cheerful.

"Service is just fine, you don't have patience for anything is all," Matthew replied, "Now, what's actually wrong?"

Alfred sputtered nonsense into the phone. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong! Can't a guy call his brother? Hahahaha! Are you on something Mattie? Cause-"

"The only time you acknowledge my existence is when something's wrong, Al."

"Ahahaha...right...me and Artie had a fight."

"About?"

"...When I left."

"You really are hopeless, Al."

"He's the one who started it!" Alfred said in defense, "He goes and gets wasted after he takes off from the beach-mother fucker took my car, mind you- so I have to take him back to my place after I found him and he starts ranting and stuff about it this morning and he nearly kills me and-"

"Jesus Christ Al, calm down," Mattie managed to say mid-Alfred's-tirade, "Why were you two even at the beach in the first place?"

Silence.

"Alfred..."

"I totally didn't want to get him in bed or anything."

Matthew could hear his brother's embarrassment over the phone, but that didn't deter him from getting to the bottom of Alfred's dilemma; it was in his nature to help someone in need. "Now, why would you want do that, Al?"

"...Because I find him physically attractive, obviously."

Mattie chuckled. "That the only reason?"

"Well, I dunno, I guess I realized I love him, and that's what you do with someone you love, right?"

"Yeah, sure...so how did you start talking about..?"

"I just said I missed being close with him, and he storms out, gets drunk, crashes at my place, wakes up, nearly _kills_ me with kitchen utensils, kicks me out of my home, and starts ranting about what a douchebag I am, then leaves!"

Matthew waited until his brother had calmed down before he spoke. "Have you tried contacting Arthur? To make sure he's okay?"

Alfred stood there in stunned silence. How could he have forgotten something like that?

"...Alf-"

"Yeah, thanks for everything Matt! Call ya back soon!"

"Wait-!"

_Click._

Matthew stared at his phone at his phone, the dial tone picking up from when his brother had abruptly hung up. "He won't call back, huh Kumajiro?" he asked the polar bear lounging in the den. Kumajiro, in reply, gave him a look that clearly asked _who are you?_

"...Your owner."

Alfred, meanwhile, skidded into his hallway, pulling open the door with a manic frenzy. There was no way Artie was gonna get away this time-

"FUCK."

Arthur had taken his car, again. Alfred slumped against the door frame, utterly defeated. How was he supposed to win Arthur's heart if the man had, once again, stolen his car? Alfred blew out a puff of air in exasperation, trying to think of a way to find Arthur. Calling every bar in the county was out, that would take too long, and he highly doubted Arthur would be at the airport, last minute flights to London were too bothersome and suspicious-hadn't Mattie told him to do something?-maybe he could call Francis or something , that guy stalked Artie from time to time-

Oh, yeah, that's what Mattie had said; call Arthur to make sure he was okay. Alfred rushed back inside and grabbed the phone, punching the numbers with a frenzied hand. He danced on the spot, waiting for Arthur to pick up.

But of course he didn't answer.

Alfred let the phone drop to the ground, a full blown depression seeping its way into him as he realized that his hopes had been crushed. The man numbly walked into his living room, slumping down and staring straight ahead. "Now what? he said aloud, head lowered in defeat.

Then the phone rang.

Alfred bolted out of his seat, diving for the phone and grabbing it with fumbling hands. "Hello?" he said breathlessly.

"America-san?"

"Oh, hey Japan," Alfred said, "What's up?"

"Where are you? The meeting started five minutes ago."

Alfred stood in horrified silence. "There's a meeting?" he yelped.

_A/N numero dos: I guess I should mention this, but in my silly headcanon the countries only call each other by their country name when there's a meeting, they're enemies/neutral towards each other, or for formalities. Just thought you guys should know! _


	5. The Amazing Ability to Forgive

**A/N Listen guys, I really DON'T have an excuse for taking what? Several months to update? And I apologize profusely for that! I hope you can forgive your friendly neighborhood fanfic writer...after I finish this (and I WILL finish it!) I think I'll just stick to oneshots, because multi-chaptered fics just aren't my forte.**

**Again, I'm REALLY sorry.**

"Yes America-san, there is a meeting. And it's in the same place as it always is in your country," Japan stated. The Western nation could be a ditz, but to forget a meeting in your own home?

"Hey, is Artie there?"

"Yes. I assumed you were with him, because he was driving your car."

"D'you think you could...delay the meeting till I get there? I need to find a ride."

"Erm, I do not think-"

"Great! See ya in a bit!" Japan closed his cell, turning and facing the other nations present, fidgeting nervously under Germany's cold glare.

"Well?" the towering country asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"Er, he is on his way," Japan said to the floor.

Alfred was running around his house, grabbing a tie and hastily putting it on as he shoved his feet into his shoes. _Damn Artie, damn him to hell._ He thought savagely as he furiously pulled on his suit jacket. He snatched his briefcase and yanked open the garage door, flicking on the light to illuminate a 1957 Harley-Davidson Sportster.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it Lucy?" he asked to vehicle, reverently running his hand across its glossy surface. Alfred kicked the bike into gear, revving it impatiently as he waited for the door to open. Once it was, he bolted out-making a sharp right- and sped off to the meeting.

"We've been waiting twenty fucking minutes, we'll have to start the meeting without him!" England roared above the bickering voices of the other nations.

"But England, it's your fault he's not here to begin with!" Japan said frantically, trying stall for time.

"I don't know what you're bloody talking about!" England shouted back.

"You are the one who stole his car," Japan stated, acutely aware that the others had fallen silent, listening in on the impending fight.

"Well I wasn't about to wait for his fat arse to wake up! I wasn't going to be late because of him!" England hissed vehemently. It was all the stupid American's fault!

"We were both up in plenty of time!" Everyone swiveled around to face America, who stood in the doorway, his hair a mess and his clothes more ruffled than usual. And he looked livid. He stomped past England on his way to his seat. "Sorry I'm late, now let's get started," he barked.

It was a very unusual meeting, to say the least. They actually crossed several things off their agendas; nothing major, but it was something, for a change. And for once, America didn't argue with anyone, and he didn't spew any of his hero nonsense as well. What was more, he refused to even acknowledge England. The meeting breaked for lunch after a couple of hours, the nations dispersing in different directions. England trailed behind America-who was nestled in between France and Spain- and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Er, here're your keys," he mumbled.

"Whaddya expect me to do, drive the Ford _and _Luce back home?"

"I assumed you took the bus," England muttered to his shoes.

"Well you assumed wrong," America said coldly, "If you would, could you drop it back at my place after the meeting?"

"Erm, alright," the shorter male said, eyes trained on the floor, "I'm sorry!" he blurted out.

"That's great to know, thanks," America said dismissively, leaving England to rejoin France and Spain. England stood there, numbed by the dismissal. He turned to head back to his seat in the meeting room, preferring to eat alone. To his intrigue, there was a hastily written note waiting for him on his seat.

_We need to talk. _

England flipped the note over, but there was nothing more. He recognized the sloppy handwriting as America's, and he wondered just when the stupid git had left it. But no matter, they were going to talk things out, and maybe go back to a normal relationship. England almost felt giddy at the prospect.

Almost.

It was well into the night before the meeting finally ended; spurred on by the day's earlier successes, Germany had kept them all there several hours later than usual. Everyone filed out, separating into groups of three and four, on their ways to separate hotels. England dawdled while leaving, hoping to catch America on his own, but no, the bumbling idiot was the first one out the door. The island nation sighed, switching the light off as he left.

He ignited the engine of America's car, suddenly feeling awkward as he did so, much unlike earlier when he relished the fact. Guilt wormed its way inside him. Oh, he'd went and done it now, hadn't he? He was being so immature, just because he didn't want to confront something...  
>He killed the engine as he reached the two-story building that was Alfred's house. It was pitch black. Arthur got out of the car, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Why was he so nervous, this was only his ex-charge's house! His sense of foreboding increased as he opened the door; it was unlocked. Had something happened to the blubbering idiot? Arthur tried to shake the feeling off as he entered the room, blindly searching for a light switch.<br>Suddenly, the whole place was bathed in a harsh, bright white. Stars popped up in Arthur's vision from the transition of pure dark to glaring light.

"Jesus Christ, you're acting like you just looked at the sun. It's not that bad."

"Alfred, I can explai-"

"Arthur. Don't. Let me talk-"

"Alfred, I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize."

Alfred's words struck Arthur as odd. Shouldn't he apologize? It was all his fault, wasn't it? "But-"

"No. Artie, listen. I should be the one apologizing," Alfred began, baby blue eyes burning into emerald ones. Alfred took Arthur's silence as a means to continue. "I was an idiot, bringing up stuff from the past, and I'm sorry for that."

"Alfred, don't take all the blame," Arthur said gently. "It's my fault too, I-I overreacted."

A glimmer of hope passed through Alfred's eyes. "You really aren't mad at me, Artie?"

Arthur broke out into a nervous smile. "Of course I'm not, you bleeding idiot!" he paused. "And for the last, _fucking _time, don't call me Artie!"

**A/N Numero dos: And I'm sorry it's physically impossible for me to write nice, long chapters! ;A;**


End file.
